The corridor outside the counselor’s office was quieter than the main passageways, the lighting softer here, less glaring than Sickbay’s sterile white. Nytha’rae paused before the door, feeling the subtle shift in the ship’s hum—still present, but muted by the thicker bulkheads of the counseling wing.

She adjusted the strap of her pack across her shoulder and let her bioluminescent markings dim to a neutral glow. Nytha’kae settled against her collarbone, wings tucked close, his jewel-bright colors softened to a low, steady shimmer.

The placard beside the door identified the space as Counseling Services.

She lifted one hand and rang the chime.

The tone was soft, almost musical—still artificial, but kinder than the sharp alerts of the hangar or Sickbay. No immediate response came from within. Somewhere beyond the door, a conversation ended, voices dropping into a hush.

Nytha’rae lowered her hand and stepped back half a pace, adopting the still, respectful posture of waiting. Her tail coiled loosely behind her, the tuft at its tip brushing once against the deck before going still. The corridor’s air was warmer here. Less dry. A small mercy.

She let her gaze soften, eyes unfocusing slightly as she listened—not for words, but for the space itself. The counselor’s office radiated a different rhythm than the rest of the Chimera. Fewer sharp vibrations. More layered quiet. It felt… intentional.

Nytha’kae shifted, curious rather than alarmed this time. His glow brightened a fraction, then settled.

This place listens, she thought.